


until the sun grows cold

by Mscrwth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Female Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, New Caprica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mscrwth/pseuds/Mscrwth
Summary: Written for a galpalficathon, prompt: Laura Roslin and Tory Foster / cold
Relationships: Tory Foster/Laura Roslin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	until the sun grows cold

Tory looks on from just inside the tent flap as Laura Roslin slowly makes her way across the bustling market place. Her breath fogs around her auburn head and her cheeks are pale and drawn. She looks cold. During the night, winter has moved in to stay. A light dusting of snow covers everything and overnight, the churned, muddy streets have frozen over. Crossing them is now a dangerous proposition, more so if, like Laura, you’re unsure of your footing. During her recent stay in detention, Doral managed, amongst other things, to dislocate her hip, and she’s barely back on her feet and already pushing herself. Tory knows it’s only a matter of time before Laura falters, and she’s determined to be there when she does, determined to be there for Laura the way she wasn’t when the Cylons took her and beat her bloody and left her lying, unconscious, in the middle of the market place in the dead of night, for all the waking world to see.

An example, that’s what they called it, and Tory knows that by being out and about, the cuts and bruises on her face barely healed, the limp from her hip injury plain for all to see, Laura is setting her own example.

Tory keeps a close watch and starts forward when she notices Laura's trajectory will take her to a particularly slippery looking square of ice. She curses herself for being too late again as Laura beats her to the icy patch, slips and starts to fall. Thankfully, it appears she wasn't the only one keeping an eye on her progress and Tory breathes a sigh of relief when a dozen hands reach out to steady their former President. Tory picks up her pace and is beside her erstwhile boss in a few long strides, pushing through the crowd of concerned citizens. The people back away, allow her to hook her arm through Laura's elbow and escort her to the schoolhouse. Tory curses their solicitude as she makes her way across the market place with her charge. They wouldn't be in this position in the first place if those same concerned citizens hadn't voted Laura out of office to begin with. They opted to go follow Gaius Baltar and his delusional pipe dream, and now that the dream of settlement has turned into a nightmare, they are all, one by one, turning to Laura again, and, perhaps more galling still, Laura lets them.

As they walk across the market place, Laura keeps her back straight, her head high. When people accost her, she stops and listens to them, has a friendly word for each and every one of them, smiles for them. By the tremble in the arm she's holding, the way the smile strains at the corners of her eyes, Tory knows what it's costing her. Laura badly needs to sit down, be out of the public eye, and Tory forcefully steers them towards the schoolhouse, sidestepping the next encounter and quickly closing the tent flap behind them as they step inside.

"Tea?" Tory asks, digging in her bag, holding up the thermos she brought and two ceramic mugs.

"That would be heavenly." Laura replies, visibly shivering, wincing as she blows on her hands. They don't talk about it but Tory knows the cold from days spent on the freezing concrete floor of her prison cell has seeped into Laura's bones and taken up permanent residence there. It’s why she made sure to be here about an hour ago. These tents don’t do much for keeping the cold out, and although the schoolhouse has a heater, the size of the place means warming it takes forever.

“Cottle would be so pissed if he knew you were already back to teaching." Tory places a cup of tea on the table in front of Laura and sips her own drink while she watches Laura sit down gingerly and wrap her hands around the ceramic mug, warming them. Some color has returned to her cheeks and she smiles warmly up at Tory as she takes a cautious sip, sets down the mug in front of her.

"Then we won't tell him, will we?" she says with a conspiratorial wink.

"It's not like he won't suspect anyway."

"He does know me too well," Laura admits. She takes another sip of tea and watches Tory over the rim of her mug. “I never thanked you for taking such good care of me after…”

Her speech is uncharacteristically hesitant and when she falters at the last word Tory holds up her hand, shushes her. “There’s no need.”

Laura nods and something dark moves behind her eyes, it’s there and gone and just like that she’s her own serene self again. "Will you stay and help with the kids?" she asks. "I'm not so fast on my feet these days."

"Of course." Tory says. She's honored Laura asked, knowing her former boss is not one to ask anyone for anything. She'd had every intention of staying anyway. The kids can be a handful sometimes and Maya is great with the younger ones, but the older ones tend to run roughshod over the young woman.

Laura looks down at her hands, opens a box that Tory recognizes as once belonging on the Admiral's desk, closes it and starts fiddling with the crayons littering the table, lines them up against a ruler like soldiers before their drill sergeant. She speaks without looking up. "Thank you, Tory."

"Again, no need to thank me, Ma'am. All part of the job."

"No it isn't." Laura says, then picks up the ruler, points it at her. "Since there's no job anymore, and while we’re on the subject, stop calling me Ma'am." She smacks the ruler down in the palm of her hand softly, once, twice, her expression mock serious and Tory is left breathless as she realizes the enormity of the gift Laura has just given her.

"Right." It takes her a while to recover. "So," she finally stammers, "you're welcome, Laura?"

“That’s better.” Laura takes another sip of her tea and then closes her eyes, breathes in deep. “Gods, this tastes and smells terrific, where did you get this?”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one with a knack for finding strange and unusual herbs on this frakking rock,” Tory says and laughs as her companion snorts in her tea.

“Ha,” Laura says, chuckling. “We’ll have to compare notes sometime, see if we can lace your tea with some of my stash?”

“That should make for some interesting dinner conversation next time you have company.”

Laura smiles that smile of hers, the one that would make anyone do anything for her, if she would but ask. Tory smiles back and prays that she will always live up to the trust and friendship Laura has placed in her. She knows that if she doesn't, if she fails this woman, this warmth will be withdrawn and if that happens some vital part of herself will go missing. She'll freeze, like the mud and the sludge in the streets did, will become treacherous and slippery.

As they sit in companionable silence, sipping their tea, Tory glances over at Laura and makes her a silent promise to do everything humanly possible to prevent that from happening.


End file.
